Chapter 15 - The Safehouse
James didn't go to his penthouse. He drove straight to a modest, working-class neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. He knocked rhythmically on the door of an unassuming apartment.
The door opened to reveal Clara, the twins' adoptive mother, a fierce woman in her late forties who had once worked as a nurse. Seeing James bleeding and disheveled, she immediately pulled him inside and locked the door.
"What happened?" she demanded, grabbing a medical kit.
"Marcus," James panted, sitting at the kitchen table. "He knows I'm onto him. Where are the girls?"
"Sleeping safely in their room," Clara said, expertly cleaning the cut on his cheek. "James, this is out of control. You're a billionaire, can't you just buy a private army?"
"If I use violence, Marcus wins. He wants to prove I'm unstable," James explained, holding up the ledger. "This is the key. It proves he's been embezzling and laundering. But I need someone untainted by corporate bribery to look at it. I need the District Attorney."
Just then, a small voice broke the tension. "James?"
He looked up. Callie was standing in the hallway, clutching a worn teddy bear. Her identical twin, Bea, peered from behind her. They looked at his bloody shirt, their eyes wide but devoid of panic. They had grown up in the rough parts of the city before James found them; they knew what danger looked like.
May you like
"Are the bad men trying to squish you again?" Bea asked softly.
James kneeled down, ignoring the pain in his ribs, and pulled them into a gentle embrace. "They're trying, sweetie. But remember what you said? We're sponges. We pop right back up."
